Professional Documents
Culture Documents
5 Women Wearing The Same Dress
5 Women Wearing The Same Dress
Pg 22-25
Georgeanne: (Looking in mirror) God. Look at me. I am totally pathetic. I just don’t
want to be alone. Is that too much to ask? I mean, I still believe in marriage. I do.
(Trisha laughs ruefully.) You don’t?
Trisha: To be perfectly honest with you, Georgeanne, I think any woman who chooses
marriage in this day and age is out of her fucking mind.
T: Oh, please. I’ve met him more times than I’d care to admit.
G: Oh, come on. What’s the longest relationship you ever had, how many hours did that
last?
T: Well, why drag it out? He’ll just start trying to run my life or else he’ll want me to be
his mother.
T: I have yet to meet one who isn’t. And I seriously doubt if I ever will.
G: Really?
T: Yeah.
T: Well, in the first place, it’s not a major tragedy, I’m just being honest.
G: Maybe you’re right. I’m probably just a hopeless romantic, doomed to go through my
life being disappointed. (At window.) There he goes. Sniffing after little Miss Navy
Blue Linen. God. Look at the way he walks…he sure can wear a pair of pants.
T: I mean, what’s the payoff? For having had that many women? Does it make him feel
accomplished? Wiser? Or has it just become this drug he has to have?
G: Well, you’ve slept with just as many guys. What’s the payoff for you?
G: A hundred!
T: Yeah, but Tommy Valentine is like Wilt Chamberlain, he’s probably had sex with a
thousand women.
T: You better hope so. Did he use a condom in the parking lot?
G: No.
T: Georgeanne.
T: A guy like Tommy, as good-looking as he is? I’m sure he’s had opportunities.
T: That doesn’t mean a thing. I knew this lifeguard once, talk about good in bed, this
boy could have taught old Tommy Valentine a trick or two. He was a total animal, he
loved sex. Loved it. Then one day I showed up at his apartment and found him in bed
with the telephone repairman, which is obviously why I hadn’t been able to call to tell
him I was on my way.
G: I’m too scared to take it. I mean, I know the chances are slim, but with my luck.
Weren’t you scared?
T: Yeah, I was.
T: Well, it seemed like the responsible thing to do, and…that lifeguard died.
T: You will.
G: Well, I certainly don’t want Tommy Valentine to have AIDS. But I tell you one
thing. I can’t wait for him to lose his looks.
T: And he will. It’s bound to catch up with him. He’s going to end up one of those
hatchet-faced old men that really handsome guys turn into.
G: Yes. He’ll have on of those big red Ted Kennedy noses from drinking so much his
whole life.
T: Yes! And he’ll unbutton his shirts a couple of buttons more than he should.
G: No. He won’t do any of that. He’ll just get better looking as he gets older, he’ll never
gain any weight, he’ll wear a T-shirt and blue jeans and have grey hair and he will be so
gorgeous that it hurts just to look at him. I, on the other hand, will be as big as a house,
I’ll wear too much makeup, I won’t have any hair left from a lifetime of bad perms, and
I’ll get skin cancer from going to the lake too much when I was in high school and I’ll
just wake up one morning and I’ll be dead. And Tommy Valentine will read my obituary
in the paper and it won’t even occur to him that he ever even knew me, much less slept
with me. (She bursts out laughing)
T: You were right. You are crazy.
G: I am one sick ticket. Well, I guess I should give up my fantasy of getting laid by
Sonny Corleone today.
G: Yeah, I dare you to find one who is straight, single, and who has a job.
G: Maybe I need to have a nervous breakdown. Maybe I need to have a big, loud, nasty,
smelly nervous breakdown right when Dr. Marlowe goes to do his father-of-the-bride
dance with the new and improved Tracy Marlowe hyphen McClure.